


Beyond the Wasteland

by TheCorrosivePen



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst with a touch of fluff, But Obi-Wan has a pretty nice shoulder to cry on, Clarke may love Bellamy Blake, Encounter on Tatooine, F/M, Lots of time in the desert, Post Season 2 Finale, The 100 Cannon verse, This walkabout just took a turn, Witchcraft, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-12 18:19:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5675860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCorrosivePen/pseuds/TheCorrosivePen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were looking for her. Who exactly they were was unclear. The villagers eyes had been wide with awe, their voices fraught with fear. They knew who she was and yet they had let her go, sending her along to the medicine woman convulsing before her. They had promised the witch would have a cure, a remedy to spare the hunted. After months alone with barely cooked rabbit and squirrel churning in her belly, Clarke had been ready for anything.</p><p>In which Clarke by misadventure ends up in the arms of one Obi-Wan Kenobi during his mission on Tatooine while exploring herself, her grief, her guilt and other demons.</p><p>Not exactly your usual pairing, but this came to me and just wouldn't go away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Into the Abyss

**Author's Note:**

> So this came out of several things... wanting to study Clarke's mindset after months on her own, wanting to have her talk about it to someone who wasn't part of her problems/world and wanting to include Obi-Wan Kenobi because, well, why the hell not?
> 
> At the core of it Clarke is searching for a way to face her fears and go back to camp Jaha, but also just wanting a moment of peace and quiet. There are Bellarke undertones, but for now Clarke's on her own.
> 
> The story is finished (~10,000 words) and I'll post the last chapter in the next few days.

## Chapter 1: Into the Abyss 

Clarke stared into the dark eyes of the woman sitting across the fire. Her raven hair was dusted with soot and her lips moved in a quiet murmur as she rocked in place. A bolt of dread raced down Clarke’s spine. She shouldn’t be here. She should never have followed the directions the villagers gave her. She should have found her own way.

They were looking for her. Who exactly they were was unclear. The villagers eyes had been wide with awe, their voices fraught with fear. They knew who she was and yet they had let her go, sending her along to the medicine woman convulsing before her. They had promised the witch would have a cure, a remedy to spare the hunted. After months alone with barely cooked rabbit and squirrel churning in her belly, Clarke had been ready for anything.

So here she was, listening to the foreign syllables pouring out of the woman’s mouth. Not the grounder language, something more guttural, less civilized. She knew there was the possibly of returning to Camp Jaha, but it hovered just out of reach. No matter her current predicament she wasn’t prepared to return. Just the thought had bile rising in her throat, mingling with the heavy smoke of the herbs burning on the fire.

Sometimes she spared a moment to think of them. To think of the betrayal in Bellamy’s dark eyes, the loneness in Monty’s last hug, the searing grief in Jasper’s haunted eyes. They called to her, but she refused to answer. Her path was separate now, entwined with her guilt as she wandered the forests, the edges of the badlands, the dead zone stretching out before her, calling to her. The first night she’d made camp at its edge, the pale moon casting shadows on the shifting sands as she’d slept fitfully below its luminous sphere. She’d awoken in a cold sweat, he hand shaking, her feet moving, only to realize she was sleep walking, heading out into the vast abyss of sand and misplaced hope. She’d crawled back to her camp, sand digging into her bare knees and stayed there, rocking in place, until she was sure her feet would not lead her back again. Clarke had stayed away from the dead zone since then, its call too Siren-like for her to resist.

Across from her the women had ceased to chant, her eyes canted up to catch the moon in their glassy orbs. Clarke looked away, unwilling to watch the fire fight the moonlight. For a moment there was no sound, not even the rustle of the trees in the wind, and then there was fire everywhere, blasting outward with the violence of a tempest as it consumed her. The heat exploded across her senses, but she felt no burn, no charring of her flesh.

As quickly as it came, it vanished into the thick night air, leaving them in darkness, even the embers of the fire dark in their pit. A slow smile twitched at the witch’s lips, her features eerie in the cold moonlight.

She held out a hand to Clarke, her spidery fingers wrapping around Clarke’s upper arm. In broken English she murmured, “It… done, wanderer. Go … peace, safety you may find.”

Clarke rose to her feet, thankful when the woman’s slender fingers slid from her arm. “Go where?’

The woman crowed, a secret smile lighting up her dark eyes. “Go! Go! You know where go.”

Tripping across the roots of a towering pine, Clarke stumbled her way out of the clearing. Once out of sight she took a deep breath, the night air cloying, but better than the smoke that still caked her mouth. What the hell did the women mean? Go where? Clarke had no idea what the witch meant and was beginning to think she’d wasted her time on a bit of hocus pocus that had cost her two rabbits and the last bit of water she’d stored from her trip to the spring.

She pulled her furs more firmly around her shoulders, still feeling the flames licking at her skin. The woman had called her wanderer and while it was an accurate description Clarke couldn’t help but wonder if she was missing something, some hidden meaning to her words.

She took a firming breath and stepped away from the tree. The grove where they had performed the ritual had put her uncomfortably close to the dunes of the badlands, which she could see glowing in the distance, their peaks kissed by the moon. Clarke took an involuntary step forward, her eyes searching the barren desert sea with keen interest. Could it be? She shook her head, turning away from the dead zone. No. That was absurd. The witch couldn’t possibly mean she was meant to cross the sea. And yet the weight of the word _wanderer_ stayed with her, pulling her toward the endless dunes of sand and death.

She had no water, no provisions save a small handful of nuts and a pouch of jerky. Crossing the dunes would be suicide. She glanced back at them, either by trick of the moonlight or sheer exhaustion they seemed to sparkle now, their infinitely shifting peaks an array of diamonds blazing in the night, calling to her.

With a heavy sigh she turned to face the desert. She was already dead if the words of the villagers were to be believed. Hunted by all clans, sought for her powers of destruction. Her fingers dug into her palms, leaving crescents of dirt and despair. She was already dead. Her feet moved of their own volition, striding confidently toward the sparkling abyss, slowing only as the sand spread before her. With a last glance at the dark forest, she stepped into the pearlescent sand.

 

~*~

 

The moon had long set by the time her legs gave out, the constant fight against the shifting sands proving too much for her malnourished body and weary muscles. Only shades of gray could be seen now, endless shades against the starry night. Her throat felt ragged, although she couldn’t be sure if it was the smoke or the dust now. She’d collapsed on the leeward side of a dune, taking what protection she could from the night winds. The sky was still visible, so Clarke knew it could be worse. She’d heard whispers of the dust storms that ate up entire caravans traversing the perilous wasteland. Even still she wondered what the hell she’d been thinking, trekking out into the dead zone on a hunch about a witch. It sounded absurd. It was absurd.

She absently chewed a piece of the jerky, wishing she’d saved even a sip of water for herself. As it stood, she was going to die, probably sooner rather than later. When the sun came up she would have no form of protection, her heavy furs more of a dead weight than a help, and with no water to sustain her while the sun beat down, she’d dehydrate quickly, likely dying within a day or so.

She groaned, her head falling back to rest on the cool sand beneath her. Is that what had driven her into this desert, a death wish? Was she truly so unable to cope with the aftermath of Mt. Weather that she’d ended up here, waiting helplessly for death to find her? She’d known she’d needed a break, but this hadn’t crossed her mind. She needed to bear it so they didn’t have to, she’d told Bellamy as much, her heart crying out in her chest as his dark eyes came undone in front of her. She hadn’t coveted death though. At least she hadn’t thought so until now. With no strength left to give she collapsed against the dune, praying for… for something.

 

~*~

 

The heat of sun woke her, beating down with the force of a thousand grounders. She knew without looking her face was red, likely burned, as she moved her jaw muscles. She threw off her furs, putting them above her head, a paltry shield but better than nothing, as she rose to survey the scene.

It was very much like before, an endless expanse of sand between her and any sign of water, let alone a settlement. Clarke cleared her throat, coughing up dark clumps of sand. Lovely. She took a step toward the west, but paused glancing up at the sky to confirm her choice of direction. What she saw stopped her still in her tracks. Two suns hung above her, their combined rays explaining the intense burn her exposed skin had experienced.

She shook her head, sand raining down from her red braids, and looked again. Still two suns. She’d had her world turned on its head when they realized they weren’t the only humans on Earth, but Clarke was pretty sure Earth still only orbited the sun. And stars didn’t spontaneously become binaries. She might not have paid a lot of attention in her astronomy classes, but she knew that.

Beneath the foreign stars, Clarke trembled, her legs giving out beneath her. She’d asked the witch to hide her away, to protect her from the hoards of grounders that would have her head. If Clarke had known that meant sending her somewhere else entirely, she wasn’t sure she’d have agreed to the ritual. She’d had enough first encounters to last a life time, thank you very much. She hadn’t even believed the magic would work, her scientific brain scoffing at the whispered incantations and the burning herbs. But she remembered the fire encompassing her, burning through her soul and leaving not even a singed hair in its wake. Could this possibly be real?

A screeching noise had Clarke dropping to the ground, all to aware that she stuck out like a sore thumb in her dark furs. The noise increased, rising to a fever pitch before dropping off into nothing as the sand shifted around her. In the sudden moment of silence, Clarke held deathly still, not daring to breathe.

The crunch of sand underfoot had her rolling to her back, her handgun pointed out in front of her. There were only three rounds left, but whoever was approaching her didn’t know that. The gun wavered in her grasp as she studied the stranger standing before her. He was a young man, maybe Bellamy’s age, with short cropped strawberry blonde hair except for a strange, thin braid than ran behind his right ear. His eyes were a vibrant blue-green that seemed oddly luminous in the brilliant sunlight. His hands were spread before him, palms up, peaking out of his sandy white tunic. His pants matched the tunic before knee high brown boots enveloped them. She tell could there were several layers to the tunic, but it was too complicated to understand without further study. A dark belt looped around his waist, with several dark objects hanging off it and a silver cylinder that glinted brightly in the sunlight. No sign of a gun or sword, but Clarke knew better than to relax.

“Don’t come any closer,” she warned, her voice rough from disuse and abuse. “I will shoot.”


	2. Wake the Storm

## Chapter 2: Wake the Storm

He glanced down at the weapon in her hand, a look of comprehension washing over him for an instant before fading away, replaced by a neutral expression. “I have no wish to harm you. Our sensors picked up an anomaly and I thought I’d investigate. There’s a storm coming and we didn’t want anyone left outside.”

Clarke narrowed her eyes at him before looking beyond to scan the horizon. She could see nothing but deep blue sky and perhaps a hint of mountain ranges beyond the dune sea. Nothing to indicate a storm. “I don’t see it.”

He hummed, his eyes tracing the lines of her ragged clothing. “I would wager a guess that you aren’t from around here.” His voice was smooth, bathing her with comfort even as she kept her trigger finger steady. His accent was different than any she’d heard among the grounders, more refined, like the old movie actors she’d heard up on the Ark.

She saw no point in denying her alien origins. She already knew this wasn’t Earth, at least not her Earth. “No, I’m not.”

He nodded, as if this was hardly news, which she supposed it wasn’t. “You can put away your weapon. I have no desire to harm you.”

Her hand didn’t waver, the barrel still pointed directly at his chest. “How the hell did you find me out here?”

He cocked his head to the side, studying her, making her skin tingle as his eyes ghosted across her figure. “I was doing a routine scan of the area around our ship when I found both you and the storm.”

Clarke bit her lip, turning his words around in her head. “Your ship?”

“Our spaceship. It’s parked outside the city. The nature of our business doesn’t allow us to use the spaceport.”

Her eyes widened as he said the last word. Spaceport. Space travel wasn’t exactly science fiction to her, but a spaceport sure the hell was. “What do you want with me?”

He glanced away from her, clearly trusting her not to shoot him, and surveyed the horizon. “The storm is coming from the North. I imagine it will be here in less than half an hour. My friends in Mos Espa will have to stay the night I’m afraid. I’m not willing to let you parish in the storm, no matter how much you might doubt my intentions.”

The last words were said with total confidence, as if he hardly cared that she was wary and knew with absolute certainty that she would come with him. Keeping the gun steady she rose to her feet, pulling her furs away from her face. His eyes traced her features lightly, as if taking stock of her, while a small smile spread across his lips. “I’ll come with you,” she allowed. After all, Clarke had no desire to be caught in a dust storm, whatever planet she was on. “But I’m not surrendering my gun.”

“Fair enough,” he replied, motioning toward the dark object behind him. “Hop on?”

Clarke holstered her gun, and made her way toward the contraption, eyeing it critically. It looked a bit like a motorcycle or what she knew a motorcycle was supposed to look like, but it had no wheels. The two seats were clear enough, but the rest of the mechanics were lost on her. She sighed, wishing Raven were with her. The man had already swung his leg over the front seat, leaving Clarke to clamber on awkwardly behind him.

He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes even more startling in such close proximity. “Hold onto me.” She tentatively placed a hand on either side of his waist, the rough material of his tunics catching on her calloused palms. “Tighter than that…”

Sighing, she capitulated, firmly clasping her hands in front of his waist. Even though there were several layers of material between them, she could tell his stomach was toned, the strength of his hard muscles clear beneath her arms. Without warning, the bike (hoverbike?) shot into motion, careening forward at a speed Clarke had only ever reached during their ill-fated drop to the ground. And then there had been a whole ship between her and the rushing air. Now only the muscled shoulders of her rescuer to protected her from the flying sand and gale force wind.

Mercifully the trip was short, lasting only a few minutes by Clarke’s estimation. She dismounted as soon as they came to a stop, unwilling to be on the bike a second longer than necessary. Apparently speed was not her thing. The stranger’s hand gripped her shoulder as she bent over, her breath coming in ragged heaves.

“You okay?” Clarke nodded, not trusting her throat to produce words. His grip tightened in reassurance before he took a step back. “We should get you inside and cleaned up. The Queen isn’t going to be happy to see a stranger, but I don’t believe you pose a risk to her security.”

Clarke spat out a mouthful of sand before staring up at him; he was a full head taller than her. “Queen?”

He nodded, motioning toward the silver spaceship that loomed before them. Clarke had seen it on their approach, but up close it was even more impressive, so different from anything she’d ever seen on the Ark or the ground. Before he could say whatever it was on the tip of his tongue, a dark man in ornate military garb, Clarke assumed it was military garb, stalked down the lowered ramp.

“What in the blazes have you done, Padawan Kenobi?” Spitting furious would have been an understatement Clarke decided. One look from his venomous eyes had her backing up, moving behind the bulk of her rescuer.

“She was the blip I picked up the sensors earlier. She’s harmless.” He defended, disturbingly unaffected the ire of the man on the ramp.

“Just because you are a Jedi doesn’t mean you can tell everything about someone,” the military officer argued, but his temper had cooled to a more roiling boil.

“It is because I am a Jedi that I can do exactly that,” he- Kenobi, Clarke assumed- replied mildly, a note of chiding in his voice. Aghast, Clarke stared at the back of his head. If she were in his position, she certainly wouldn’t be saying anything to antagonize the other man. Of course, she had no idea what exactly their relationship was.

To her surprise, the man on the ramp seemed to wilt before their eyes. “You’re in charge of her then. I don’t want her to have any contact with the Queen. None.”

Kenobi nodded and turned to face Clarke. His voice was soft as he murmured, “Sorry about that. I am going to need your weapon now.”

She took a step back, pulling the gun free of its makeshift holster. The dull metal glinted in the light of the twin suns. “I’ve had bad luck being defenseless before. What assurances do I have that you’ll be any different?”

He met her discerning gaze with clear eyes. “You don’t. You’re just going to have to trust me.”

“Not my strong suit,” she retorted, her fingers digging into the lines of the gunmetal.

“No,” he murmured, his eyes sweeping across her face, leaving her skin tingling in their wake. “I suppose it wouldn’t be. But I promise you, I wish you no ill will and I will not let any harm come to you.”

Clarke didn’t want to trust him, knowing as she did the price of trust, but she had few options in this foreign land and thus far, he had been kind to her. The screams of her mother echoing in her head, she let the gun slip from her grip. He caught it easily, too easily, and holstered it on his utility belt.

The other man had already retreated into the bowls of the ship, so Clarke was left alone with Kenobi as they made their way up the ramp. As soon as their feet were on the metallic floorboards, it started its ascent, closing them into the silver ship. She tried not to openly stare as she observed the branching corridors and mechanic hums. In a way it felt like being back on the Ark, the hum of machines a constant, but it was too foreign to feel familiar.

“This way,” the man motioned toward a lift. “Panaka wants me to keep you away from the passengers, so I’m afraid you’re stuck with me in the crew quarters.”

She followed him wordlessly onto the lift, which was barely large enough to fit the two of them. She heaved a sigh of relief as they stepped out on the lower level. The corridors were different on this level, more dirt and grease smudged on the floor panels, more of a machine shop vibe than a spaceship one. She glanced into a storage room filled with domed metallic objects.

They passed a few more rooms before he keyed open another door, which slid open to reveal a small bunk, two stacked beds with a chair and desk to the side and a door leading out the back. She followed him, the door hissing shut as they stepped inside. He paused for a moment, as if unsure that to do, before motioning toward the door beyond the bunks. “I’ll just get you some water from the ‘fresher.”

Clarke had no idea what a fresher was, but as the door slid open its meaning became obvious. It was a nicer bathroom than she’d used since her days inside Mt. Weather. Some of the levers and handles looked bizarre, but she was sure a little fiddling would work out their meaning.

The door closed behind him, giving Clarke a chance to take stock of her situation. First and most surprisingly, she wasn’t dead. Whatever juju had been in the witch’s spell had turned Clarke into a believer. Secondly, she’d accepted the help of stranger in some foreign land (planet?) whose name she didn’t even know. Was it Kenobi or was that merely a designation? She wasn’t sure. She sat hesitantly back on the bottom bunk, ducking her head to avoid the metallic upper frame. She was like Dorothy, very clearly not in Kansas anymore.

The bathroom door slid open again and he presented her with a brimming glass of water. “Drink slowly… you want to keep it all down.”

She nodded, her medical training agreeing with his words. The first sip was like heaven, a cool caress over her raw throat. She took several more sips before pausing, feeling his eyes heavy upon her. “Who are you?”

A small grimace passed over his lips. “Forgive me, my lady, I didn’t mean to be rude. I am Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Padawan of the Republic.”

Clarke blinked and his expression dimmed as he realized his words meant nothing to her. “Jed eye what? What republic?”

His cheeks were tinged with a hint of red as he met her curious stare. “Padawan, it means apprentice.” Clarke nodded, that made sense. “And the Republic is the Republic… I’m not sure how you haven’t heard of that.”

A wry chuckle escaped her lips. “I’m pretty sure there’s a lot I haven’t heard of. What’s a Jedi?”

His bluegreen eyes widened, his shock visceral. “You don’t know what a Jedi is?”

“Um,” Clarke wracked her memory for any possible reference to the term from her time on the Ark but came up empty. “Nope.”

“You have come a long way,” he murmured, turning her gun over in his hands. “We haven’t had weapons like this in thousands of years…”

Clarke didn’t know whether to be offended or confused. She settled for staring balefully back at him. “You didn’t answer my question. What’s a Jedi?”

“We’re guardians of the Republic. Peacemakers.” He paused, as if considering the best wording. “Once upon a time we were warriors, but not so anymore. Not to say that we aren’t dangerous. Because we are.” His eyes flashed up to meet her, deeper meaning hanging in their depths, but Clarke had no idea what he meant, what any of it meant.

“Warriors never stop being warriors,” she murmured, thinking of the grounders, of the guards within Mt. Weather. She shook her head, pushing past the oppressive guilt mixed up in mind-numbing anger that clung to the memories. Her eyes caught on his belt. “But you carry no weapon.”

His lips pressed together for a moment before he shook his head, unclipping the metallic cylinder. “I think you will find that you are gravely mistaken.” A snap-hiss filled the air and ozone coated Clarke’s tongue as beam of light shot out from the end of the cylinder. Clarke reached forward, feeling the air heat as her hand moved toward the blue beam.


	3. A Crack Between

## Chapter 3: A Crack Between

“Don’t!” his words were sharp, the light instantly disappearing from the air. His sea green eyes were wide as he stared down at her. “What in the world were you thinking? I could have cut your fingers off!”

A shudder of unease ran down her spine as she eyed the object in his hand. “Cut my fingers off?” She’d never heard of a laser that could sever human flesh and bone, burn certainly, but not slice.

Nodding, he reactivated the beam, keeping it a safe distance away from Clarke. Next he picked up a glass from the table, reactivated the humming light sword and dropped the glass through the blade. It cleaved neatly in half before he caught the remaining pieces with lightning fast reflexes. Clarke gaped.

“It’s called a lightsaber and it’s not to be toyed with, even on low power settings it can severely injure you.” She nodded, collecting her jaw from the ground. He replaced his weapon and took at seat at the table, turning the chair to face her. “So now that you know who I am, who are you?”

“No one.” She answered without thinking, so used to giving the response in grounder villages as she wandered from one to the other, hiding from herself, from the grounders, from the guilt.

“You’re not no one.” He paused, as if uncertain if he should continue. “I could sense you, even without the ships scanners. I knew the instant you appeared. There was a disturbance in the Force.”

“The Force?” she echoed, uncertain again.

“Right,” a small smile graced his lips. “You wouldn’t know about that either. I’m not sure how to describe it to you… it’s the energy that binds us all together. The Jedi have special connection with it, can manipulate it, feel things through it.”

Clarke stared at him, her mind working. “Earlier, in the desert and down here too, I felt something when you looked at me. A tingling on my skin that told me you could sense more...” She shook her head, red braids swinging. “Sorry. That makes no sense…”

He tilted his head at her before dropping into a crouch before her, his strong hands reaching for her own. “Tell me if you feel this.” A sudden warmth in her head germinated out of nowhere, sending pleasing tingles down her spine.

“I can feel that.”

“Fascinating,” he murmured, returning to the chair.

“I’m not supposed to feel that?”

He shrugged carelessly, amusement lighting his eyes. “I have no idea since I still have no idea who you are.”

Now it was time for Clarke to flush. He’d been nothing but kind to her and her reticence to inform him of her identity was starting to feel like rudeness. “Clarke Griffin, of the Sky People. At least that’s what they’d say where I came from.”

“Clarke Griffin,” her name sounded better on his lips, more cultured and musical. “And where exactly do you come from?”

“Planet Earth.”

His eyes squinted for a moment, as if recalling something, before he shook his head. “Never heard of it.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to.” She sighed, studying the depths of his ocean eyes. There was no harm in talking with this stranger, this Obi-Wan Kenobi. He was a world apart from Clarke and her disasters. Perhaps he could be the confidant that She so dearly wished Bellamy could be. Clarke had yearned to talk to him, to bare her soul to her dearest friend, but she had needed him to lead the others, to protect them while she made her peace. And thus she had been left with nothing but her shadow to talk to, the raw scrape of insanity circling closer every day.

“I asked a woman, they said she was a witch.” She paused, gauging his reaction to the word. His eyes sharpened, and he leaned forward in the chair. “I asked a witch to hide me away, to take me somewhere safe and I somehow ended up here after wandering the dead zone all night.”

Obi-Wan steepled his fingers in front of him. “Hide you from what?”

“Where I come from…” She paused the words burning at her throat. “Where I come from, I did a terrible thing. A thing I had to do, but a terrible thing. Now there are people looking for me. Hunting me.”

“Why?”

She turned his question over in her mind. She’d been asking herself the same thing as she stumbled from village to village, the rumors growing more vicious each time she stopped. “I have no idea. I think they believe I have power, maybe not over them, but power, so it’s in their interest to control me. It is not my native land, I was raised in a box in the sky called the Ark, and I have only been on the ground for a few months.”

“And yet they believe you are powerful.” His eyes darkened. “What exactly did you do, Clarke Griffin of the Sky People?”

She felt him in her mind again, urging the words from her throat. She could fight him, avoid the condemnation of her actions, but she was tired of this battle. Tired of hiding from the ugly truth that haunted her dreams and drove her towards the dunes. “I murdered over 300 people to save my own.” She stared back him, feeling the ripples of disbelief flowing between them. “I didn’t want to, but it was the only way, so I destroyed an entire civilization to save forty people.”

Obi-Wan’s hand had slipped to rest on his lightsaber, his eyes churning like a tropical storm. “What was happening to your people?”

She gave a silent prayer that he was willing to listen to her speak, no matter how affronted he might be. “They were dying. Being murdered really. Murdered so their bone marrow could be used to help the residents of this underground civilization walk outside.” Clarke paused, realizing context was likely important. “There was a nuclear war that wiped out most of the life on the planet. These people had survived in an underground bunker, but to do it they had to become vampires… using the blood of the survivors above ground to remain alive. They learned our bone marrow could spare them from having to use the outsiders since we were raised in space and had immunity to the radiation.”

“So let me get this straight.” He paused, his expression contorting into disgust before sliding back to a neutral expression. “You murder one group of people because they were trying to murder your group of people and had been murdering others for years.” He shook his head. “Forgive me if I don’t understand how this could possibly have occurred. Wasn’t there something, someone, that would put a stop to that madness?”

“Like who? The whole planet was eclipsed in nuclear winter for most of this time…” Clarke had never stopped to think about the history of blood treatments at Mt. Weather, never had the stomach to imagine how they first discovered the horrific use for the grounders or developed the Red.

“I forget that your world must be very unlike my own,” he murmured, his lilting accent musical despite the solemn words. “Even if this happened, why are others hunting you?”

Clarke shrugged, no further insight coming to her. “I have no idea. But I left my people. The guilt was too strong…” she trailed off, her throat closing in as she whispered the words. She’d left them, thinking it would be for the better, knowing she couldn’t stay and yet she dreamt of them, of their faces, of their deaths. She’d woken tens of times, the sight of Bellamy’s deep brown eyes burning into her as blood flowed through her hands, his body dropping lifeless to the ground. She’d been paralyzed, caught in the middle of million bad decisions, hunted for reasons she could barely imagine.

She’d been desperate when she sought out the witch. Clarke stared down at the metal bunk beneath her. Desperate enough to have sent herself so far from home that even her fears seemed small, ultimately surmountable compared to the distance she’d travelled. She’d never given much thought to time travel, parallel universes or any other odd metaphysical manifestation, but now she faced the unyielding reality that she was far out of space and time, lost in a whole new way that had her aching for the depths of Mt. Weather and the taste of the dead zone in her mouth.

As if sensing her rising despair, Obi-Wan moved to kneel before her. “Whatever evils you think are in your soul, I can assure you they are not. I have felt the light of you within the Force.” He reached out a tentative hand up to cup her cheek. When she didn’t flinch away from the contact, he settled closer to her, the heat of him burning into her. It had been so long since anyone touched her, since she’d felt the warmth of human flesh against her own. It took everything within her not to collapse into him. His thumb stroked along the wetness of cheek, brushing away the tears she hadn’t known she’d shed. “I know you have done terrible things, but you have not done them with darkness in your heart. You are no agent of Evil, Clarke of the Sky People.”

The warmth of his words on top of the gentleness of his caress was too much for her to handle. She collapsed against the rough material of his tunic, her tears darkening the cream fabric. Despite the awkward angle and their lack of familiarity, he held her easily against him, warm waves of calming energy washing through her with each caress.

In time, her eyes dried and her shudders ceased. Obi-Wan pulled slowly back his thumbs caressing the raw skin of her cheeks. His breath ghosted against her face. “In time, you will learn to let these feeling go. They serve no purpose held so tightly within your heart.”

Her teeth worried her lip. “But how?”

A hand tangled in her dyed locks as he stared back at her, his tempestuous eyes mere inches from her own. “I cannot see the future, but I do know all things pass in time. You will learn to live with this.”

She let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. That was the question, after all. The one that had plagued her as she wandered the forests and trekked into the desert. Was she even capable of putting this behind her or would the fickle edge of insanity cut across her irreparably, leading to an untimely grave?

Taking a shuddering breath she leaned away from him, mourning the loss of his heat as she stood. Something about his words nagged at her and she swung back around. “Is it possible for other Jedi to see into the future?”

If Obi-Wan was surprised by the abrupt change in subject, he didn’t show it. “Yes, it is not unusual for Jedi to have visions. Master Yoda has many times been known to sense something before it occurs… although the future is always in motion and we cannot truly predict it. There are many legends of Jedi in the Old Republic and their abilities of foresight.”

“Interesting,” she murmured. The world Clarke lived in was so stale compared to this one, too full of the insatiable urge for survival to have time for life’s other, more fulfilling pursuits. The grounders’ culture was defined by their need to survive above all else, their arts and culture a mere shadow of what she suspected she’d find here. She knew the grounders had traditions, culture even, but how much could they really have developed over a few generations? Nothing compared to the gravity that encompassed Obi-Wan’s words.

As if sensing, perhaps more literally than she was used to, her thoughts, Obi-Wan rose to stand beside her, his broad frame eclipsing her petite one. “Do not think my world is without its evils or its struggles. It is perhaps simply broader, larger in scope than your own, but wrought with no fewer problems.”

She sighed. “I suppose whatever universe you’re in is just as flawed as the next.” She paused, eyeing him before dropping to the ground, drawing her knees to her chest as she leaned against the cool bunk. A beat later he sank down beside her with a grace she could only imagine having. “I sometimes think about all that we missed out on, living after the nukes went off. We had copies of books, digital and print, on board the Ark, and music, even recordings of theater and dance, but it was all so foreign to us. Art, hell even culture, was something we couldn’t afford. I learned to draw, but only because I had a position of status. Others were not so lucky.”

His shoulder bumped comfortably against hers. “Like a Queen or something?”

It took her a moment to realize what he was asking. A bitter laugh bubbled across her lips. “No. Nothing like a Queen. Just privileged. Able to do work that wasn’t just manual labor.” The early sting of Bellamy’s contemptuous use of Princess crossed her mind. “Of course we were called royalty by others… maybe we even were if you use the term loosely.”

“I see,” he murmured, his melodious voice calming to her frayed mind. “And then it all changed?”

Clarke nodded, pulling at the strands of a dark red braid. “We ran out of oxygen, my father found out, my mother turned him in, I was arrested and sent to the ground with 100 other juvenile prisoners from the Ark, and then all hell broke loose.”

She could hear him swallowing heavily beside her. “That sounds… barbaric.”

“It was.”

Clarke shifted to lean her head on his shoulder, uncertain why she was so trusting of this stranger, but too exhausted to put much effort into evaluating her feelings. The witch had told her she would find a safe place and despite the doubts coursing through her mind, she trusted the woman on that count.

As the silence drew even further out, nothing but their even breaths vibrating the air, Clarke shifted to look at Obi-Wan, drawing her head reluctantly away from his comforting shoulder. His eyes were closed, his face serene as he sat mutely beside her.

“What about you? What was your life like before you became a Jedi?”

He cracked an eye open to look at her, his expression inscrutable. “I never had a life before the Jedi. I was brought to the crèche as a baby… it is the only way of life I have ever known.”

“I envy you for that,” she admitted. “I keep wishing for life to stand still, for the world I live in to be defined, but its borders are transient, one group a friend and the next an enemy.” The memory of Lexa’s lips burned across her own, causing her to swipe viciously at them.

“She caused you much pain.”

Clarke hand froze. How did he know? How could he know? But then she remembered the tingling on her skin, the warmth in her mind. She hadn’t realized he could sense real thoughts, perhaps even real images. “She betrayed us at our hour of greatest need. Without her betrayal, Bellamy and I wouldn’t have had to kill them.”

A beeping noise interrupted whatever response Obi-Wan might have given. He reached toward his belt, pulling out an object that reminded her disturbingly of a razor with odd bits of metal attached. “Master?”

Clarke was surprised he’d answered the call, that’s what she figured it was most like, in front of her, but he seemed to extend the same unproven trust to her that she did to him. “Obi-Wan. We’ve found temporary shelter from the storm with a slave boy and his mother. I fear we won’t be returning to the ship today.”

Obi-Wan moved further away from Clarke, his back towards her as he stood by the bathroom door. “Understandable. The storm is quite substantial.” He glanced over his shoulder, his stormy eyes locking on Clarke’s. “In fact, I found a girl in the wastelands, brought her back to ship before she could get caught in the storm.”

There was a moment of absolute silence on the other end before the other man’s deep voiced boomed through the bunk. “You did what? What in the galaxy have you done with my Padawan? You hate collecting strays.”

Clarke wanted to say something biting in reply, but held her tongue. Obi-Wan’s eyes darkened, but he didn’t break their connection. “I know. But I felt something in the Force, Master, something I couldn’t ignore. So I followed and found her. She’s harmless as far as I can tell.” Clarke gritted her teeth at that, but a simple gesture of his hand soothed her. “There is other, far more disturbing news.”

“Go on…”

“We received a transmission from Naboo, from the governor. He tells of horrors perpetrated by the Trade Federation and begs the Queen to contact him. She was visibly upset by the news, but I told them not to transmit anything. It’s likely that it’s a trap.”

“It does sound like bait to establish a connection trace.”

Obi-Wan’s shoulders sagged beneath his tunic, his doubt chasing tendrils over Clarke’s skin. “What if it’s true and the people are dying?”

A deep sigh could be heard on the other end of the line. “Either way. We’re running out of time.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Don’t do anything stupid, Padawan.”

The warning hung in the air as Obi-Wan turned to face Clarke, setting the communication device on the table. “Sorry about that.”

Clarke shrugged, a bitter taste rising in her mouth. “I take it you’re not a fan of strays.”

He winced as he dropped to his knees before her, his handsome features momentarily distorting. His eyes were clear, like the ocean on a calm day as he reached out, catching her hands within his own. “I won’t lie, Master Qui-Gon is more apt to bring along someone than I am. I tend to frown on this habit of his and more than once I’ve complained bitterly about it.” He paused, a rueful smile caressing his full lips. “That said, Master Qui-Gon doesn’t exactly have the best taste.”

“And I’m up to your standards?” She couldn’t help teasing.

He laughed, the sound warm honey, sweet and smooth. “I suppose you are. But I’m sorry. I don’t mean to talk about you like you don’t exist, but Master Qui-Gon would not have been very happy to know I’d let you listen to our conversation.”

“So why did you? Obliviously it wasn’t the appropriate thing to do…”

He shrugged, giving her hands one last squeeze, before dropping down beside her once more. “I do not tend to be very trusting, but in this particular case, I don’t have a bad feeling about you.”

Clarke frowned. “Thank you. I think.”

He glanced down at her ragged furs, the intensity of his gaze making Clarke shift beside him. “I think you probably could use a change of clothes and a shower.”

Her frown deepened. “I don’t smell that badly, do I?”

A light chuckle escaped his lips. “No. You smell…” he paused, his eyes roaming her face, “like light, fresh and beautiful.”

Clarke had no idea what to say to that so she rose to her feet turning away from his intense blue stare. “I guess I’ll, um, wash up?”

He nodded, dropping his eyes. “Right. Um… the shower’s sonic so that might be different, but you’ll definitely be clean. I’ll see if I can get you a change of clothes from upstairs. I’m afraid I don’t have anything quite your size.”

Clarke nodded back at him before slipping inside the door. Leaning against the metal sink she studied her reflection, barely recognizing her face beneath the filth and dirty red hair. She cocked her head, watching her reflection do the same, before sighing and beginning to strip off the layers of furs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't sure how many people would enjoy this sort of thing, but you write what you write, ya know? So thank you all so very much for reading. It means the world to me. 
> 
> In other news, my absolute favorite icon, David Bowie, passed yesterday. I am still coming to terms with our world not having his bright light within it.


	4. There's a Light in the Distance

## Chapter 4: There’s a Light in the Distance

At some point during her time in the shower, he must have put a pile of clothing just inside the door, but she hadn’t heard the telltale hiss of the door. Granted, she had been too busy adjusting to the oddity of taking a sonic shower. The filth had melted off her skin almost instantly, but she’d stayed in the cubicle longer, savoring the feel of the light pressure dancing across her skin. It wasn’t better than an honest to god shower, which she’d had only during her brief stint at Mt. Weather, but it was pretty damn close.

She examined the pile Obi-Wan had left her, slipping on the gray underwear and bra before studying the fiery yellow and orange gown. After a few missteps, Clarke figured out how the robe was supposed to fit her, straightening up as the heavy fabric cascaded down her body. A glance in the mirror had her doing a double take. The flaming red of the hood contrasted starkly with her now very blonde hair. Apparently sonic showers removed all the dirt, intentional or not. The hood settled gently on her shoulders underneath the golden hair. The rest of the long sleeved gown gathered loosely at her waist, but that was understandable. Clarke hadn’t been eating much lately and she knew every rib was countable. Below the red sash at the waist the fabric dropped to her feet in an increasingly vibrant yellow hue. Clarke had never seen material this bright. It was softer too, gentler on her skin than anything they’d had on the Ark or that she’d felt on the ground.

Taking a deep breath, she moved to stand by the door, raising a hand to key it open. Obi-Wan was sitting at the table, reading something on a tablet, but his head swung up at the sound of the door hissing open. The neutral expression melted off his face as he stared at her, his defined jaw dropping for a moment before he snapped his mouth shut. His eyes raked the length of her, pausing when they reached her hair. “Well… that’s different.”

“Different good?”

He nodded emphatically. “Different good. I had no idea you were a blonde under all that…” he waved his hand generally toward the pile of furs that had been set on the bottom bunk.

“I’d been hiding.”

“I can tell.” The words seemed to take him by surprise because he frowned and turned away from her, shaking his head as if to clear it. “I brought down some soup. It’s not much, but it should help with any hunger…”

Clarke grabbed a bowl from the table and moved carefully toward the bottom bunk, all too aware of how the dress swished around her. So this is what it felt like to be a real Princess.

Obi-Wan let out a small laugh. “You have no idea. Her Majesty’s dresses are much more elaborate than that.”

Clarke leveled a glare at him. “Would you stop doing that?”

He shrugged. “I would, but you project so strongly I can’t help it. It’s like… like I can just see what you’re thinking if the thought is strong enough.” She swallowed, dread pooling in her stomach. He could see everything? Obi-Wan shook his head. “Not everything, just what you project strongly. Like when you thought about the girl that kissed you. The image just popped into my head. I swear…”

Clarke let out a breath, attempting to clear her mind. “So you’re only kind of a mind reader.”

“And only with you. I don’t tend to pick up thoughts so easily from anyone else. At least not anyone I’ve met.”

“Huh.” She let the conversation lag as she tackled the soup. It tasted a strange combination of savory and sweet, unlike anything she’d had before. Regardless, the pains from her stomach began to subside as she gulped it down, its warmth filling her with a serenity she hadn’t experienced in years, not since before her father died and her whole life got ripped to shreds.

Obi-Wan had gone back to reading, so she took the chance to study him, making sure to keep her mind quiet as she examined his chiseled features. She knew how strong he was from the ride to the silver ship and she knew the depths of blue his eyes could reach from their earlier interactions. She knew he was kind, too, but Clarke couldn’t understand that kindness. She was still raw, untrusting, from her time on the ground, her nerves on edge as she waited for the next attack. And yet one look in his stormy eyes and she was calm, poised against the coming storm. It was unnatural and yet she could not deny the warmth that spread through her, the ache for surrender that vibrated her weary bones. Couldn’t she just be safe for once? Couldn’t she just trust?

“Could you stop?”

His voice jolted her back to reality. Shit. “Sorry.”

He turned to face her, a rueful sigh on his lips. “Not that I don’t appreciate that you trust me…” he paused, letting her absorb just how she’d been projecting. “But I am trying to finish reading this briefing and I don’t think you’d appreciate me knowing that much about how you think.”

Clarke was sure her cheeks were flushed a flaming red to match the gown. She’d been so sure she could be discrete, but then again she really didn’t understand how this whole mind reading thing worked and she couldn’t really blame herself for not knowing its boundaries. And he was right. She didn’t want an audience for that particular monologue. Sighing, she studied the thin pad that covered the metal bunk. It was better than sleeping outside.

Clarke shivered as a wave of desolation swept through her. It was definitely better than the bitter cold bed of leaves and paltry furs that had barely served to protect her from the elements. Reflecting on her weeks (months?) on the run, Clarke had no idea how she’d survived. The chill of winter was already in the air; she awoke most mornings with frost in her breath and bitter cold in her bones. Another month and the snows would descend from the North (she’d seen the white tops of the mountains growing closer for weeks now) and she would be dead.

Wrenching herself away from that destructive bandwagon, Clarke set the metal soup bowl against the base of the bunk, willing the maddening frenzy of her thoughts to subside. “I’ll just try and get some sleep.”

Obi-Wan hummed his approval from the desk, already absorbed in whatever briefing he so desperately needed to finish.

Clarke settled back onto the bunk, drawing the thin blanket over her. Without the dress on she might have been cold, but its thick material was warm, holding in her body heat as well as her discarded furs. In any case, the icy wind of the forest wasn’t raging against her skin, prying at her nerves and sapping up her light. No, at this moment she was warm, warmer than she’d been in years, maybe warmer than she’d been in that metal box above the Earth that had cost her so much. Certainly warmer than she’d been on the ground, even in the Bunker, taking refuge in Finn’s arms as the world fell apart around them. Clarke burrowed further under the covers and relaxed against the thin pillow. Maybe she was finally safe.

 

~*~

 

Brown eyes bored into her as she tumbled back to reality, her throat hoarse. She blinked and they were replaced by luminous blue, Obi-Wan’s face taking shape in the dimly lit cabin, the lights having been lowered sometime after she’d succumbed to slumber.

“You were dreaming…” She nodded, remembering the feel of Bellamy being torn away from her. “You dream of him often.”

Clarke took a stuttering breath, clawing for equilibrium. Her dreams of Bellamy were often violent, nearly always ending with him dying in her arms, helpless to save him. Sometimes they took other, unexpected twists, that had her gasping his name for very different reasons, but those were rare and fleeting. “I miss him.”

“But you left him.”

The statement hung between them, the truth of it bitter in her raw throat. “I had no choice.”

“We always have a choice,” Obi-Wan murmured, dropping down from his crouch to sit on the floor beside her bunk. “It is not always a good choice, but it is a choice.”

Clarke slumped back onto the thin mattress, her mind awash with confusion, terror from the dream still seeping through her. “I know that.”

He nodded, his luminous eyes capturing hers. “You love him.”

“Very much,” she admitted. “But there’s nothing to do about that now. He thinks I betrayed him and I can’t expect any warm welcomes even if I were to return now. I would be just as angry if I were in his position. I’m afraid that bridge has burned.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not.” Obi-Wan turned away from her, his head tipping to rest on the mattress beside her. “I’ve learned never to assume…”

“Speaking from experience?” she teased, the lightness in her voice forced and likely not fooling either of them.

“Hardly. The Jedi are forbidden from forming attachments such as this relationship you have with Bellamy.”

Clarke could see Lexa standing before her, telling her she would have to command her warriors to die for her. Insisting that Clarke foreswear her love and let go, become unattached. That’s exactly what she’d done to him, order him to his death, and by some miracle he’d survived her sentence. They hadn’t talked on the solemn walk back to Camp Jaha from Mt. Weather, so Clarke was left to guess at the horrors he’d endured at her behest. She wasn’t stupid; she’d seen the suffering in Bellamy’s eyes, the hesitancy in his touch. He’d torn himself apart for her, survived a world she’d only scraped the surface of, but he’d still been there, his fingers warm against hers as they pulled the lever.

“You want to talk about it?”

She blinked, having forgotten she wasn’t alone, so accustomed to isolation, to talking circles through her own head. “I’m not sure what there is to talk about.”

Obi-Wan shrugged, settling onto the narrow bed to lie beside her. They were pressed together from head to foot, his warmth bleeding into her like the first light of dawn. Taking solace in his presence, his calming blue gaze, she began to speak, the words tumbling off her tongue.

“I regret so much. I thought I had to be strong, but in the end I compromised everything. I listened to her and sent him to die. I tell myself it was necessary.” She paused, the word echoing through her mind. _Necessary_. His sacrifice was necessary for the greater good. But what greater good? Clarke no longer understood what they were fighting for. With no good guys and no bad guys, what was left? The desperate edge of survival, so keen it was willing to cut down children? If that was the life she’d created, she might as well go outside and walk into that dust storm and finish what she’d started in the sea of dunes.

“No!” His bright eyes flashed as he rolled toward her, his strong arms grasping her thin shoulders. “No…” he repeated, his voice rough. A smothering silence grew, the truth sliding between them. His grip on her shoulders relaxed, but he did not retreat, instead hovering over her, his luminous eyes a tempest of emotion.

Clarke swallowed heavily, unable to break away from his penetrating stare and yet unable to endure it just the same. She wasn’t sure how she felt about him knowing, understanding the devastation of her soul. No one was supposed to see the ugly mess she’d become, a tangled knot of guilt and loathing, especially not this kind stranger in a distant land. That was her secret, her burden to bear.

“Whatever it is that you have done. That is not the answer.” His voice was soft a whisper in the darkness, but it held such command, such confidence that he was right.

Her blood ran cold. But it was the only answer, wasn’t it? Bellamy had said it first, but it applied to her too. Everything she touched was ruined; everyone she loved made to suffer. _She was a monster_. The truth of it trembled through her, a cold splash of understanding. Even when she knew there was no light side, no dark side, just life, she’d fooled herself into thinking she was a hero, a martyr for her people.

“You did what you thought was right,” Obi-Wan countered, clearly sensing the twisted logic tightening around her tangled soul. “Clarke!” He shook her roughly, his face awash with more emotion than she’d seen him display before. His lips stretched in an almost feral grimace as his eyes begged her to listen. “You are not some dark avenging evil brought upon the world. You will not do it any service by removing yourself. Indeed you will do it great harm. The Jedi may not believe in attachment, but we do believe in compassion and forgiveness.”

He released his grip on her shoulder, raising his warm hands to cup her face, his fingers tangling in her blonde locks. “If that’s what you need, forgiveness, I can give that to you, Clarke Griffin of the Sky People. You’re forgiven. But I need you to live. I need you to fight.” His gaze faltered for a moment, dropping to the blanket, before blazing fiercely to life. “I can sense things about you that I don’t understand, but I know one thing is very clear. You must live. I don’t understand this connection between us any better than you, Clarke, but the Force wants you to live, needs you to live.”

Her skin burned where his hands gasped her, the warmth bleeding through her, chasing away the despair. Her eyes widened. “Was that you? In my head?”

Obi-Wan hesitated a moment, his eyes focusing anywhere but her own, before nodding. “Did it help?”

Clarke closed her eyes, searching for the thread of guilt and despair that had been tangled throughout, distorting her every thought. It was absent, replaced by a thrumming current of warmth. Her eyes snapped open to meet deep blue oceans. “It did. How did you…?”

“I have no idea,” he admitted, his fingers idly tangling in her hair. “I merely followed the will of the Force.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your kudos and support. Again, thank you all for reading so very much. 
> 
> I've done a few edits as I looked over the final chapter and it's been split in two now, so one more to go.


	5. Through the Looking Glass

## Chapter 5: Through the Looking Glass

“Hmm,” Clarke murmured, turning into the warmth of Obi-Wan’s caress. “Can I ask you something?”

His cultured voice lilted even more as amusement suffused it. “Probably.”

“You mentioned something about Jedi not having attachments. What does that mean?” The comment had slid past in the darkness of the moment, but it piqued her interest. Clarke knew next to nothing about this stranger, this guardian sent to help her fight her demons. The role of the Jedi was fuzzy at best to her and his comment had her wondering if they were monks or followers of some other religious order that embraced asceticism and celibacy. She couldn’t exactly imagine the virile young man before her as a celibate monk, but it seemed the possibility existed.

An amused hum escaped his lips as he smiled down at her. “No. Not that. Just no long term attachments, no wives or husbands.”

Clarke’s cheeks flushed as she realized he’d picked up on her train of thought. He held her gaze, eyes flashing with amusement and something darker, more compelling. She shook her head, dislodging his grip on her as she turned to face him, their bodies now side by side on the small bunk.

Doing her best to ignore the heat of embarrassment and some deeper, more unmentionable emotion, working through her, Clarke attempted to imagine a world without her friends, without her mother, however troubled their relationship might be. She couldn’t. The bonds between them were too foundational, too important, for her to imagine life without them. No Wells having her back even when he shouldn’t. No Raven bonding over mutual loss. No Lexa, the fire between them burning hot and quick. And no Bellamy. No deep brown eyes that could see into her soul and still forgive her. “That’s horrible.”

His eyes searched hers, likely sensing some of the emotion behind her statement. “I was raised this way, it does not seem cruel to me.”

A silence fell between them, heavier than before. Clarke had no idea what to say. He’d been kind, kinder than she could ever expect a stranger to be, but now he felt foreign, too much a product of a different world.

“Just because I cannot love in the way that you do does not mean I can’t feel what you feel, that I do not desire the same types of things you desire.” Obi-Wan’s voice cut through the silence, his lilted tone a balm to her ears. “I am not so different as you think, Clarke of the Sky People.”

“Just Clarke, please.”

He dipped his head in assent, shifting to trace a calming hand across her flushed cheek. “I do not mean to upset you, Clarke.”

“I’m not upset, Obi-Wan.” His name tasted sweet on her lips, the foreign syllables falling off her tongue with ease. “It’s just different, almost too weird to contemplate.”

“I will not deny that we are a product of very different words,” he conceded. “But the Force has brought us together and I will surrender to its judgment.”

What exactly was its judgment? Clarke stared back him, trying to decipher the meaning of his words. She wished she could understand his thoughts as easily as he snatched hers, seemingly from mid-air. Whatever Obi-Wan had done to her had taken the edge off, but now the quiet, the absence of despair, left her disconcerted. It had been her constant companion for weeks, a sickly balm to her enflamed soul. And now she was alone, without her depraved companions, guilt and despair, flung across the universe to a place where the young man before her could read her every thought, see her every desire, her every fear.

A flash of dead caught her breath. Obi-Wan may have saved her from herself but he had no power in her world, no ability to change the horror that seemed to lurk beyond every shadow. Even if she had changed, truly been unburdened, what was there to fight for?

“Fight for your people. Your light is too bright to be extinguished.” His voice was hypnotic, pulling her in, making her believe. “You have so much to give, Clarke, do not let it rot and waste away. Mend your bridges…”

Bellamy’s warm chocolate eyes flashed through her vision. “But…”

“It is not too late. He will understand. They will all understand. The only unforgivable act is not returning, taking the coward’s path.”

His words hung between them, their truth too blinding to ignore. She’d been a coward; Clarke could see that. But she’d needed to leave, needed to learn how to live with her impossible burden. Look where that had gotten her. She caught Obi-Wan’s earnest gaze again, her soul melting into him. He was her salvation, her guardian angel at her darkest hour. She owed him her life.

He shook his head, the funny braid behind his ear dancing. “You owe me nothing.”

“But I wish to thank you.”

“Your well being is comfort enough.”

His sweet words warmed her heart, but she still felt bereft, as if some important piece was missing between them. She surveyed his earnest sea green eyes, searching for a possibility. Slowly he reached out with his sculpted hand, his fingers trailing across her cheek. His eyes burned with a different intensity now, more primal and raw. A jolt of electricity shot through her, her eyes widening as she read his intent.

“Is it allowed?” she murmured, voice wavering as his hand continued its ministrations. He must have seen, even if she hadn’t acknowledged it, the forbidden desire floating just beyond her conscious thoughts.

“It is not forbidden.” His voice was soft, but deeper than before, rougher in a way that had her heart hammering in her chest.

Clarke hadn’t allowed herself this pleasure in a long time. Not since the bunker with Finn and even that had been messier, too tied up in his loss of Raven to really and truly be about the two of them. She understood that now. But this, they had no past, perhaps even no future. Just the here and now ready for the taking.

His eyes held hers, searching, as he slowly closed the distance between them, the first brush of his full lips a chaste caress. The simple gesture undid her, desire shooting through her veins in a way she’d only felt in her dreams. He smiled against her lips, his otherworldly blue eyes shuttering. She sighed, a release of so much pressing against her soul, so much tension contorting her body. His lips worked against hers with a finesse she hadn’t imagined anyone could possess. Then again, this wasn’t a hurried affair in a bunker with mortality hanging above her head. No, this was languid, sensuous in way she’d never even imagined.

Clarke sighed against his mouth, lips parting to allow his tongue to tangle with her own as he pressed against her. His hands traced sparks across her skin where he’d dragged the sleeves of her robe upward and she glanced down, gaping as light splashed across the bunk whenever he touched her. Hearing her gasp, Obi-Wan paused, studying the flashes that continued as he lazily drew a finger down her neck.

“That’s new.” His voice was deeper now, steeped in desire, his pupils blown as he met her wide stare. His lips twisted into a grin that had her stomach doing summersaults. “Any objections?”

She shook her head, blonde hair fanning out over the red hood of her gown. She’d never seen anything like it, would likely never see anything like it again, but instead of tensing or pulling away, she melted back into Obi-Wan. She had been waiting for this freedom, this security from pain and worry, and she would not let it pass her by. Her lips parted in a deep sigh as his teeth raked down the column of her neck, nipping at the base. Serenity washed through her, filling her pores with light, lifting her and transforming her, as she surrendered to him.

 

~*~

 

Clarke awoke slowly, awareness seeping into her. Her neck was cramped and her body felt like it had done ten rounds with the gorilla she and Lexa had faced at the zoo. She stretched, her hips popping as she shifted on the hard ground. One eye popped open, staring at the leafy bed below her.

What? She reeled back, stumbling to her feet, as she surveyed the forest around her. It was one of her usual camps, just beyond the hills that led to the dead zone. She squeezed her eyes shut, searching through the fog to conjure her last memories. She let out a gasp as they cascaded back to her… the glint of Obi-Wan’s luminous eyes as sparks rose around them, the curve of his neck as he cried out, the trembling aftershocks that seemed to go on forever as he fed the sensations back to her. Her cheeks scarlet, she glanced back down at her leafy bed. They’d fallen asleep, tangled together as lovers do, so why hell was she back on Earth? Had it all been some elaborate hallucination induced by the herbs the witch had burned?

Clarke frowned, noting the familiar scrape of fur against her skin. She reached up, plucking a stand of hair from her braid and moving it before her face. She blinked then blinked again. It was blonde. As blonde as she remembered it being stepping out the sonic shower, not a single trace of dirt or grime marring the strand. So it had been real? She felt at her neck, searching for the bite marks she knew Obi-Wan had left behind. Sure enough her skin was tender to the touch exactly where she remembered his lips suckling her skin. Her breath caught, the memory intense as it washed through, leaving her legs trembling. She collapsed on a nearby rock, taking steadying breaths until her mind cleared.

Looking back at the blonde strand a tendril of dread worked its way down her spine. There was no hiding anymore, the vibrant blonde was a beacon, calling to all those that hunted her. The witch might have given her temporary shelter from the storm, but it was still coming, and she could not outrun it. She knew that now.

She had few desirable choices left. She could wander back to the dead zone, perhaps find a peaceful end in the sandy wasteland or she could fight. Fight for her soul, for her people. Bellamy’s dark eyes flashed through her memory and Obi-Wan’s quiet words filled her ears. _You love him_. _You must live. Fight for your people._ Clarke could hardly deny her love for her dark-haired counterpart now. She’d left, hiding from the destruction they had wrought, but also hiding from the depths of her emotions. Sending him into Mt. Weather had nearly killed her and she hadn’t been willing to watch him suffer any more on her account.

_Coward_. The word burned through her, stinging as strongly as before. That’s what she’d been all these months. Nothing but a coward, on the run for all the wrong reasons, haunted and hunted to the brink of her sanity. Clarke growled, the sound guttural and foreign in her mouth. No more. She was tired of being weak. She refused to hide any longer, to run from ghosts. It was time to go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for taking the time to read. So glad some of you enjoyed this as much as I did.


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